


The Christmas Box

by girlguidejones



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlguidejones/pseuds/girlguidejones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the lovely <a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://glovered.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://glovered.livejournal.com/"><b>glovered</b></a> for <a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/"></a><b>spn_j2_xmas</b> 2013.  She requested "one of the boys turned into a kitten, with a bow on its head".  Thanks for your patience, m'dear.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Christmas Box

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely [](http://glovered.livejournal.com/profile)[**glovered**](http://glovered.livejournal.com/) for [](http://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/)**spn_j2_xmas** 2013\. She requested "one of the boys turned into a kitten, with a bow on its head". Thanks for your patience, m'dear.

Title: The Christmas Box  
Author: [](http://girlguidejones.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://girlguidejones.livejournal.com/)**girlguidejones**  
Rating | Pairing: PG 13 | Sam/Dean  
Word Count: 2400 wds  


 

 

Of all the things Sam might have been expecting Dean to get him for Christmas, a kitten was pretty far down the list. Not even on the list, truthfully. Or even list-adjacent.

"Dean?" Sam called out, certain Dean was lurking, phone in hand, ready to capture incriminating photos of Sam's reaction. The tree twinkled festively from the corner of the main room, presents still resting peacefully on the tacky, red-furred tree skirt Dean had found at an Iowa thrift store.

Other decorations were haphazardly placed around the different rooms of bunker. Tinsel was wrapped around shower rods, holly through the staircase banister, and plastic reindeer galloped across nearly every flat surface in the bunker, including the lids of the toilet tanks. Even the refrigerator door was swathed in gold wrapping paper, each of the beers inside topped with a teensy bow on its cap.

Dean with an actual home to decorate for the holidays was a scary thing to behold. It was like he took his cues from the retailers. Target had its Christmas stuff out on November 1st, so Sam had barely had time to get over the horrors of Halloween before he started finding silver bells hanging from all the doorknobs. He'd drawn the line when Dean tried to put elves on all the shelves—they felt like evil holiday gargoyles to Sam and he couldn't sleep at night with them staring down at him with dead eyes from his headboard.

"Okay, man, very funny. You can come out now!" But Dean didn't.

When Sam gave up trying to find his hiding spot and looked back again it was still there: a tiny brown kitten, curled up in the seat of the recliner with a bow suspiciously similar to those in the fridge clinging to the fur on the top of its head. It blinked up at him, eyes a vivid green, utterly cat-like in its disdain of everything Sam was and ever will be—the cat version of an eye roll, which is how Sam knew.

"Oh. My. God."

 

_______

 

 

Sam talked to Dean the cat (kitten, really, Dean was a kitten, no denying it) constantly as he paced, trying to puzzle out what had happened. Dean clung to his shoulder, tiny claw-needles digging in far more than necessary to stay in place, as far as Sam was concerned.

"What did you do?" He lifted Dean up by the belly, holding him over his head and squinting at him, as if he could see Dean's questionable actions better that way. "I know you did something. People don't just turn into cats for no reason, Dean." Sam paused in mid-stride. "Did you say something rude to that bell-ringer on Madison? Was she a witch?"

Dean glared back and opened his mouth in a tiny kitten-roar, which came out more like a _meep_ , his little pink kitten-toes paddling indignantly in the air.

"Oh god, that's adorable," Sam laughed, wiggling a fingernail into Dean's teeny-weeny jaw as he settled into the recliner. He kicked up the footrest and pulled the blanket over his lap before setting Dean down on it. Somehow the bow remained on Dean's head; either he hadn't noticed it or was tolerating its presence. Sam wasn't sure which was funnier.

Dean played for a little while on Sam's lap, chasing the icicles that Sam dangled and teased him with before tiring. Dean yawned and kneaded the wool until he was satisfied with the shape of the small divot he'd made in the blanket's surface and plopped down, stretching luxuriously (all ten inches of his body) as if he belonged there.

Maybe he did, after all. It wasn't that much different than dropping his feet in Sam's lap and demanding a foot rub. Dean had done that just last week.

"I wish you were this cuddly in human form," Sam whispered, fingers stroking through soft fur. Dean laid back and let him, purring loudly, stretching back to bare his belly for more scritches. "You're such a pretty boy, aren't you?" Sam continued, leaning down to nuzzle into the tiny star on Dean's forehead. "The prettiest boy in the whole world." Sam felt a rough lick, Dean's tiny tongue rasping over the end of Sam's nose.

"I love you too, Dean."

 

_______

 

Sam woke up Christmas morning to the distinct feeling of something _wrong_. It was still early, and still dark, but the twinkle from the tree had been overshadowed by a sickly green glow emanating from a single ornament. Sam rose, waking Dean in the process and cradling him protectively as he stepped closer to the strange glass decoration. Dean hissed and snarled, swiping a front paw in the direction of the ornament as viciously as a kitten could.

Sam sighed.

"Great. A cursed Christmas bulb? How did you manage that?" In answer Dean clawed at Sam's hand until he had no choice but to put him down, and Dean took off like a shot down the hall. Sam followed, turning several corners as he realized they were going deeper into an unexplored, mysteriously expanding part of the bunker. Dean paused every so often for Sam to catch up, clearly disappointed that he had to deign to wait for him.

"How are you finding your way, anyway?" Sam asked. Dean pawed lightly at something on the tile, and Sam bent closer, flicking on a flashlight to supplement the forties-era lighting. "Is that—oh god." He straightened to his full height, frowning down at Dean, who was gazing smugly up at him in return, completely unmoved by Sam's disapproval.

"You—you _pooped_ a trail for us to follow? You didn't have any breadcrumbs? Or, I don't know, think of scratching a mark on the doors or something?" Dean tossed his head and turned, starting to do just that. It didn't take long to see that it was useless. The decades-old paint over steel walls was impervious to his tiny claws. He stopped and stared at Sam again before leading him away again, flicking his tail imperiously.

Sam stepped carefully— _very_ carefully—after him.

They stopped eventually in front of dark door painted with various symbols. They were clearly barriers and protection ciphers, most of them familiar to Sam, which meant they had been to Dean as well. Long lines of text in several languages—most of them dead—encircled the entire lintel of the door as well. It was open just a crack and a watery yellow light spilled out.

"You thought it was a good idea to go in here?" Sam asked incredulously. "Without me? Dean, the entire _room_ is a giant curse box!" If a cat could look embarrassed, that was probably what Sam was seeing. He weaved in and out of Sam's legs, rubbing his face affectionately against his ankles.

"I know you're sorry, but that doesn't do us much good now, does it? You could have been killed!" Dean mewed once, soft and delicate, clearly trying to be cute and adorable now that Sam was angry. He blinked up at him and then hopped a little further into the room, waiting for Sam to follow. When Sam stepped toward him he leapt again, in the same direction, leading to one corner of the room. Sam scooped him up, curling Dean protectively against his chest as he flashlight glanced over dozens of mysterious boxes while they walked. The room was seemingly endless; like a Tardis, it appeared to be far bigger once you got inside.

The curse boxes were each tagged, brief descriptions of the object inside, what it did, and why it was dangerous. There were several rabbit's feet, with effects similar to the one they'd encountered with Bela. There was a crystal ball that only showed one's death, an entire car whose every owner had died in a crash, a bread knife with a tendency to chop off fingers. There was an entire section with dozens of evil toys, many of which, Sam noted with grim satisfaction, were clowns. He turned away and stopped, realizing what had caught Dean's attention.

There was an entire wall with nothing but holiday-themed objects. Faux skeleton decorations that had turned out not to be faux at all, a tiny box claiming to hold dozens of evil leprechauns, Easter eggs that hatched ducklings with poisonous beaks, and…Christmas. Box after box of evil Christmas items: strands of lights that garroted their owners, evil Douglas firs destined to catch on fire on Christmas eve, and at least one homicidal reindeer that was _not_ a vegetarian.

One of the boxes lay open, and when Sam stepped closer to inspect the tags Dean meeped and ducked his head under Sam's chin. The card read:

_"This gift combines the strongest wish of the receiver with that of his true love, and grants both as one."_

Apparently there had been gruesome instances of mutual homicide throughout history, as well as wishes that didn't meld well. "I want to have a long life" combined with "I want him to love me forever" had resulted in a devoted zombie lover that couldn't be killed. Whatever Sam's and Dean's deepest wishes were, they had gotten lucky in their subsequent interpretations.

Inside the box lay a small card, marked simply: _"~In case of emergency~"_. Sam turned it over to read. It was clear now why Dean hadn't been able to fix it himself. Sam held Dean up by his scruff, scowling at him.

"I hate you for this," he said, as he took a deep breath and began to sing.

_"It came upon a midnight clear  
That glorious song of old…"_

 

_______

 

"Your deepest, instinctual wish was to be cuddled on my lap?"

Dean was entirely human again now, and naked, which Sam was finding distracting.

They stood cautiously in the doorway, staring at the spun glass ornament in question as it hung from a bough. The ugly green light had disappeared and it looked completely innocuous now, nothing but gold, silver and white glass, strung in tiny threads into the shape of a genie's lamp.

"No, dumbass. Haven't you been paying attention? The ornament takes your deepest wish and combines it with that of your true love and gives you one, shared wish," Dean griped, wobbling a little as he tries not to look Sam directly in the eye. Apparently getting used to balancing on two legs again instead of four took a minute. "Obviously _you're_ the one writing about sappy cuddles in your diary!"

"I did not!" Sam flushed. "I didn't!" But Dean just kept staring at him.

"I—I just wanted to be able to tell you, just once, how I felt without you avoiding me and running away." Sam paused. "Or, you know, being passed out." Another pause. "Or dead." Dean shifted uncomfortably, dropping his gaze.

"How does that get translated into non-consensual feline transformation?" Dean grumbled as he tried to ignore Sam stepping more closely into his space.

"Dunno," Sam answered, reaching out to rest his hands on Dean's hips. "What was your wish? Maybe that part was you." Sam ducked his head to nibble along Dean's jaw. The noise Dean made wasn't exactly a purr, but it wasn't far off, either. "What were you thinking about when you hung it on the tree?"

Dean bent his neck to the side, giving Sam more access, and slipped his hands into Sam's back pockets. Sam immediately pressed flush against him. He suddenly wanted very much to see the pattern that the spinning Christmas tree star would make, overlaid onto Dean's freckles.

_All_ of his freckles.

"N-nooooo," Dean drawled, "I think the lap part was me, after all." Sam pulled back, surprised.

"You mean, you fantasize about being cuddled on my lap?" Sam smiled.

"Welllll…." Dean drawled again. Drawling for Dean was his way of softening something he really doesn't want to be held responsible for. "You remember it doesn't give you _exactly_ what you're wishing for? That it twists it?"

"Yeah?" Sam grinned. "So?"

"I _was_ thinking about being on your lap," he admitted.

"And?"

"We…uh…weren't exactly _cuddling_ ," Dean cleared his throat, looking up at Sam. "If you know what I mean."

Sam stared flatly.

"Your deepest wish is to ride me? Really Dean?"

"In that moment, okay? I was having a moment!" he protested. "I didn't think it was really going to work or anything, or I would have put some thought behind it."

"And if you had?" Sam rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stay mad at Dean. The whole thing was too ridiculous. "What _would_ you have wished for?"

"Probably eternal world peace or something lame like that, just to keep you off my back. If I wished for endless supply of reasonably priced parts for my baby you'd be disappointed in me," he answered, making quote fingers for the last part, "and walk around all the time, huffing at me with your shoulders."

"I don't 'huff' with my shoulders," Sam shot back, and Dean immediately laughed.

"Oh, yes you do, yes you do, Sammy. Ever since you were a kid. It's just more noticeable now, what with you being the size of a water buffalo an' all."

"Oh yeah?" Sam said slyly. "Fine. I'll show you _shoulders_ ," he declared, dipping at the knees to get one of his under Dean's ribcage, lifting him into a fireman's carry with a grunt.

He crossed the room and dropped Dean to the floor just in front of the tree, reclining him back so his head rested on the artificial fur of the tree skirt. Then Sam stood over him, straddled with a foot on either side of Dean's hips, and unbuckled his belt as Dean stared hungrily up at him.

"Gonna show me more than your shoulders, Sammy?" he grinned.

"Oh, _hell_ yeah," Sam breathed. Dean whooped, pulling him down and beginning to unbutton Sam's shirt.

"Merry Christmas, Dean."

The lights on Dean's skin were gorgeous, just like Sam thought they would be. But Dean's eyes were brighter.

"Merry Christmas, Sammy."


End file.
